


untitled

by Enigel



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Character Study, Comment Fic, Community: fandom_stocking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigel/pseuds/Enigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for ravenskyewalker's fandom_stocking 2009.</p>
    </blockquote>





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ravenskyewalker's fandom_stocking 2009.

Humanity sucked.

He wanted no more part in it. He eyed the poor existing inhabitants with pity. What had they done to deserve this? He didn't want to mingle with them, he didn't want any trace of him in the still untarnished history of this place.

No man was an island, a Caprican thinker once said. Caprica was long gone, and Galen wasn't a man.

He strode on for hours in the vague direction of that island, quickly at first, then at a slower pace. The fury clouding his mind seeped out with the sweat and exertion of the walk, until only a numb discontent remained, a sickness of the mind and soul. Did he have a soul?

He had two lives, two sets of memories. There was Galen Tyrol, scientist on Earth a few thousands years ago. The memories from that were brief and fleeting, like a nagging dream, like a flash of something bright and painful and sweet at the same time. He mostly knew that Galen had existed because Sam had said so, and because he'd had a flashback of himself about to be smeared onto a concrete wall by the end of their civilization. That Galen was no help to him now.

And there was Galen Tyrol, engineer, fake Gemenese, Deck Chief on Galactica. Except that Galactica was just a metal husk on its way to the heart of a star. All of them were, all the metal carcasses they'd called home for the past years. There was nothing to be a Chief of now.

They'd be but mere crumbs of matter. Sam would be but a wisp of flesh, burnt out long before the ships would be hurled into the incandescent mass of the star by the gravitational pull.

His friend Sam. Sam the guitar player, Sam the scientist. Sam the pyramid player, Sam the pilot. Sam the Cylon, Sam the Resistance fighter. Sam the prophet, Sam the vegetable.

Sam had told them he and Tory had been together. Tory his ex-girlfriend, Tory the scientist. He didn't remember that at all. Tory, his wife's killer. He remembered that, branded into his mind as if it was his own memory. He'd killed Tory with his bare hands. Tory, who killed his wife who killed Boomer who died saying she loved him.

Love sucked.

Except she hadn't really died then, because she was a Cylon, she died much later, killed by another Cylon who was her sister.

Cylons sucked too. He should know, he was one.

He trudged on.


End file.
